Chapter 9: A Kiss

When Beigong Juechen emerged from the inner chamber, he saw Beigong Qiyi slumped over the desk, apparently fast asleep. His brows arched slightly as he walked over, a faint scent of wine drifting from the youth’s body. Beigong Juechen picked up the wine pot on the table, gave it a shake, and couldn’t help but laugh softly, chiding, “You little rascal, not much of a man yet, but you can certainly drink.” Then he bent down and scooped the youth up in his arms.

The young man shifted in his embrace, burying his head deeper against Juechen’s chest, mumbling incoherently before sinking back into heavy slumber. Beigong Juechen felt both exasperated and amused, but merely pinched the pale, slender nape gently.

Carrying the youth into the inner room, he noted that the previous chaos had been cleared away—everything tidied, and fresh linens spread across the large bed. Only a faint hint of intimacy lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of the passion that had filled the room not long ago.

Nishang, upon seeing him enter, hurriedly rose from the divan despite the ache in her body, kneeling respectfully. “Master.” Beigong Juechen cast her only a fleeting glance, then gently laid the youth on the bed and said quietly, “You may go.” A trace of bitterness flickered in the lowered eyes of Nishang, but she obeyed, quietly closing the door behind her.

Beigong Qiyi lay on the bed, his ivory face tinged with a soft flush, all the more vivid and alluring. Beigong Juechen let down his hair, removed his outer robe, and nudged the youth further onto the bed before lying down himself. Yet the boy, who had been so docile, suddenly grew restless. Eyes still closed, he tugged at his collar, muttering in confusion, “Hot... so hot...”

Unable to bear the commotion, Beigong Juechen helped him out of his outer garments. The youth seemed satisfied, smiling faintly, but before long he began to murmur again, “Cold... so cold...” and clung tightly to Beigong Juechen’s waist. Beigong Juechen’s expression darkened; he wanted nothing more than to drag the boy over and give him a good scolding, but in the end, he let him hold on, drifting with him into sleep.

The night deepened. Within the room, a delicate haze of sandalwood smoke curled in the air, two warm candles casting a gentle glow. As the night wore on, the youth who had seemed deeply asleep suddenly opened his eyes.

The man beside him appeared to be truly asleep, his black hair scattered, half his face veiled by the loose strands. Beigong Qiyi reached out a slender, pale finger, tucking the man's hair behind his ear, then traced his fine, exquisite features in the air. Beigong Juechen slept on, thick lashes casting fan-shaped shadows across his luminous skin.

A barely audible sigh escaped Qiyi’s lips. He gently laid his hand against the man’s cheek; Juechen’s brow twitched minutely, but he did not wake. The boy leaned forward, planting a fleeting kiss on those moist, red lips, then closed his eyes in contentment, wrapping his arms around the man and falling into deep slumber.

With a quiet pop, the candlewick flared and the flame trembled, then went out.

The next day, by the time Beigong Qiyi awoke, the sun was already high. Golden daylight streamed softly through the pale window gauze. Rubbing his throbbing temples, he opened his eyes with a frown.

The man was dressed in a dark green robe embroidered with jewels and floral patterns, half-reclining on a low couch by the window. Sunlight poured over him, outlining his figure in gold. His long, black hair hung loose to his waist, obscuring half his face. He held a book, flipping through it idly, but set it aside when he saw Qiyi awake, a faint, ambiguous smile playing on his lips. “Headache?”

Qiyi, eyes half-closed, nodded. Beigong Juechen walked over and flicked him lightly on the head. “Trying to show off by drinking, are you?” Qiyi pouted, sounding a little aggrieved. “Brother says I’m old enough to grow up now. Grown-ups drink, don’t they?” Juechen shook his head, half exasperated, half amused. “Hurry up and wash.”

A neatly folded, new pale yellow robe lay by the bedside. As Qiyi finished dressing, a knock came at the door. Beigong Juechen tied his hair and fixed a sandalwood crown in place before saying solemnly, “Come in.”

Nishang entered, graceful in a plain snow-silk skirt. “Master, a message from the manor. Master Fu Zhi has arrived.” Beigong Juechen nodded, turning to Qiyi. “Let’s go.” Qiyi nodded softly in assent.

“You look good in yellow,” Beigong Juechen remarked offhandedly, casting a slantwise glance at the boy. The pale yellow set off his translucent skin, imparting a gentle warmth that pure white could never match. Qiyi seemed momentarily dazed, but the man had already strode out, and he hurried after. Nishang bowed respectfully, and as Qiyi passed, he glanced at her, a faint, knowing curve on his alluring lips.

Beigong Juechen led Qiyi to the Hall of Clarity. One side of the hall was lined with black catalpa wood chairs, and there sat a man in white, expressionless. Upon seeing Juechen, the man set down his teacup and rose unhurriedly. “Master.” His voice was cold and indifferent, barely human.

Juechen nodded and took the chief seat. “It’s been years. Have you been well?” The man lowered his gaze, voice flat. “Well enough.” Juechen’s lips twitched as if in a smile. “You’re just the same.” The man’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve always been so.” Then he looked at Qiyi. “I suppose this is the young master?”

Qiyi arched a brow and smiled faintly. “Master Fu Zhi.” The man nodded silently. “In that case, see to your things. Once you’re ready, you’ll come with me.”

Qiyi looked questioningly at Beigong Juechen. Juechen stood, his voice calm. “You’re ten now. It’s time you went out into the world.” Qiyi’s heart clenched, but he smiled gently, cupping his hands in salute. “I obey.”

That evening, Qiyi came to bid farewell. The man lounged indolently in a recliner, cloaked in a dark green robe trimmed with black fur at the collar, baring a broad expanse of fair, muscular chest. His long black hair hung loose over his shoulders. He glanced at Qiyi, his eyes cool. “All packed?”

Qiyi came to himself, lowered his eyes, and nodded softly. “Yes.”

The man propped his head on one hand, eyes half-shut, his robe slipping to reveal a rounded shoulder. Qiyi’s gaze couldn’t help but linger on his face: the long brows, bright eyes, straight nose, crimson lips. His skin was like polished jade, clear and luminous, the dramatic sword-like brows slanting toward the temples, the face calm, the corners of his closed eyes slightly lifted. Qiyi remembered clearly those deep green eyes, sharp as blades, piercing straight into the soul. In two lifetimes, he had never seen anyone more beautiful than Beigong Juechen.

Truly, a gentleman as flawless as jade, peerless in the world.

As if sensing Qiyi’s gaze, Beigong Juechen opened his eyes. “It’s late. Go and rest.” Those unforgettable eyes fell straight on him, their expression cool.

Hidden in his sleeves, Qiyi’s hands clenched tightly. Suppressing the urge to rush over and embrace him, he forced a smile. “Your brother takes his leave.”

Withdrawing his gaze, Beigong Juechen nodded, then closed his eyes and feigned sleep once more.

Not until he returned to his own room did Qiyi exhale deeply, his brows tightly knit. He struck the table with a clenched fist. One day... one day...

The next morning, when Qiyi left, he did not see Beigong Juechen. He cast a cold glance around the place where he had lived for ten years, then departed with the man whose face was as emotionless as ever.

Yet, from the very first glance, his heart and his feelings had been left behind with someone in this manor.

In this life, till death and beyond, he would never let go.

Stepping out of the Manor of Li, Qiyi looked up at the sun high in the sky and, recalling the man bathed in sunlight that day, could not help but smile. Yet when he thought of those indifferent green eyes, his smile faded once more.

Fu Zhi looked at Qiyi, his face unreadable. “You don’t like it here?”

Qiyi started, surprised that Fu Zhi would speak to him, but quickly recovered. “It matters little whether I like it or not.”

Fu Zhi nodded. After a long moment, he sighed. “I, on the other hand, do not like it.” For once, a shadow of sorrow crossed his usually impassive face, but it vanished in an instant. Such a vast manor, such heavy responsibilities, so many dangers—all resting on the shoulders of a man barely twenty...

Qiyi looked at Fu Zhi in puzzlement, following his unfocused gaze back to that cold, silent manor. He stroked his chin, eyes narrowing with a glint of chill.

Indeed, a powerful beauty is always a target for covetous eyes...